


Fleetwood Feelings

by TheWalkingDebt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Steve Rogers, Asexuality, Cute, F/M, First Kiss, Fleetwood Mac, Fleetwood Mac songs, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, Reader-Interactive, Rhiannon - Freeform, Rock and Roll, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingDebt/pseuds/TheWalkingDebt
Summary: "Now here I go again, I see the crystal visionsI keep my visions to myself,It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams and...Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?"





	

“Is it wrong?”

“... _I_ don’t think so. Do you?”

“I mean… I just… I used to blame the fact I thought… girls didn’t _go_ for a guy like me. So I was… I dunno. Settling, I guess.”

“I can understand the confusion there.”

“But it’s just… hard. Understanding what I want from what I need. If I need _anything_ , really...”

 

“Listen, I am the last person to tell you ‘go with your heart’, cuz honestly? That’s a bunch of bullcrap,” you turn over on your stomach, smirking at the top of Steve Roger’s golden head. He rolls it back, trying to get his baby blues to look at you before he sighs and twists over as well. He looks cute laying on his stomach. ...Actually, he looks cute all the damn time.

“If every kid ‘listened to their heart’, well hell, you’d have a million spoiled brat babies running around. It ain’t good for you. So I’m gonna tell you what my dad told me.”

“Siddown and shaddup?” his Brooklyn accent comes and goes, but it’s never unwanted. You grin at him.

“Close,” you laugh, propping your chin up over your crossed arms. “‘You can’t always get what you want.’”

Steve purses his lips and nods, as if it’s some sage advice passed down from many generations.

“‘But, you get what you need’,” I add, pointing a finger at him.

“That’s smart,” he blinks. “Your dad think of that?”

 

You shake your head, giggling, “Mick Jagger, Rolling Stones. Circa 1960… 1964 or 1965. It’s a song, Stevie. Another band ya gotta hear. Speaking of…” the record you had been playing stopped awhile ago, but now you get up to change it. “David Bowie or David Bowie?” you tease, holding up separate albums. “Ooh, wait, Fleetwood Mac! I’m in for some _Rhiannon_ or _Edge of Seventeen_.”

You slip the old 1975 record from its paper sheath, placing it on the machine with delicate care, and with equal caution, place the needle on the circling vinyl. The record pops and cracks with a start, rolling out the cheerful tone of one of your favorite female-led bands. Even if this album is primarily sung by Buckingham and Christine.

“Mmm,” you sigh. “I could die happy to this music.” Your feet create a whirling motion over the wooden floorboards as you sway and hum to the first song. The music is fast and fun, but you remind yourself you’re here for a reason. “C’mon, Stevie, dance to another Stevie,” you invite him up, grabbing his hands in yours.

 

> _Monday morning you look so fine_
> 
> _Friday I got travelin' on my mind_
> 
> _First you love me, then you fade away_
> 
> _I can't go on believin' this way_
> 
> _I got nothing but love for you_

 

You dance for awhile, waiting to see if he’d warm up, and when that doesn’t happen, you break the silence with conversation.

“You’re not broken, Rogers,” you murmur, twirling in his awkwardly stiff arms, laughing to yourself at his uncertainty. “People like other people in very different ways. It’s not unusual.”

“Disinterest in, ah,” he seems hesitant to use the word, which amuses you to no end, “physical pleasure _isn’t_ unusual?”

“Well, I guess, yeah, it is,” you wave a hand, brushing aside the obvious. “Very few people don’t feel.. _it_ , but hey, I’m not about to tell you you’re a freak.” You grin up at him. “Well, at least, more so than me. But we can be freaks together.”

 

> _First you love me then you get on down the line_
> 
> _But I don't mind, I don't mind, yeah!_
> 
> _I'll be there if you want me to_
> 
> _No one else that could ever do_
> 
> _Got to get some peace in my mind..._

 

He smiles, cheeks hinting at red, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Cool,” you focus on your feet, smiling down at the way your skirt flows and sinks around your ankles. A light, airy fashion that makes dancing all that much more fun. You let the music surround you two, relaxing in it before admitting the next statement.

“Even if I have no personal experience with the opposite gender…”

“Why not?” he interrupts, genuinely confused. You turn your face up to look him in the eyes, mirth filling you at his eager, if accidental, blurt. “I mean, you’re a beautiful girl. Er, dame. Woman. _Shit…_ ” He actually _looks_ nervous, tilting his gaze away as a pink blush dusts his cheeks. Adorable.

“Language, Cap,” you chuckle, all warmed over by his remarks. “Uh, let’s just say, you and I see eye to eye on this.” You smile understandingly at his surprised expression. “Sex isn’t for everyone, and if you don’t wanna do it, it ain’t gonna hurt anyone.” You nod your head to the side in playful thought. “Well, except all those fangirls who want you so badly.” The needle skips over to the next song after a brief silence, sliding into a much slower song, and your dance turns to one of those awkwardly slow prom-type circling motions. Though, nothing really feels too strange about this, just different.

 

> _Sleep easy by my side_
> 
> _Into gentle slumber you can hide_
> 
> _I, I'm waiting for the sun, to come up._
> 
> _I can't sleep, with your warm ways_

 

He laughs under his breath, slowly sliding into a natural sway as you dance with your hands in his. “Well, I guess that’s just too bad for them,” he considers, and you’d like to think he has regained some confidence just from talking to you.

“Now,” you continue, making a mocking expression. “If you wanna tell me you’re gay… might as well throw that on as well at this point.”

This time, his laughter is loud and shows brightly in his eyes. He draws you in close, stealing your breath away, “No, uh, I’m not.” Damn, you never realized eyes could actually twinkle. But then, he is Captain America. _Practically perfect in every way._ “Far from it.”

 

> _You… made me a woman tonight_
> 
> _Dream… until the morning light._
> 
> _I, I’m waiting for the sun - to come up!_
> 
> _I can’t sleep! With your warm ways..._

 

“Good,” you whisper, pressed so tightly against his chest, so close to him. You might not be driven by want for sex, but you sure as hell are curious as to what it feels like to kiss those pink lips of his. To be warmed by his arms and feel safe in his hold. To be _with_ him.

You like being close.

>  
> 
> _Forever, forever love…_
> 
> _Together, together love..._

 

He and you listen to the song quietly, you tucked into his chest with your heart racing as he considers you. The song fades away into a much faster pace, and you take this opportunity to separate yourself a bit more from Steve. You’re starting to think too much about how much you wouldn’t mind sleeping beside him, how much you’d like to live forever by his side. It’s starting to ache in your chest, just thinking about those impossibilities. As much as you try to shake them away, they only cling better. And... wouldn't you rather believe in them than push the dreams away at this point? You sink further into that blind hope.

 

> _It was a blue letter she wrote to me._
> 
> _It's silver words she told, wanna be…!_
> 
> _On the road to paradise._
> 
> _I want a lover who don't get old._

 

“Do you remember when we met?” 

“‘Course I do,” you wonder why he's asking. How could you forget meeting the Avengers? Much less _the_ Captain, Captain America, in your own freaking store? No way. “You came in looking for a Nirvana record. Best day of my life, Captain _frickin_ America asking me where to look for a 90s alt-rock grunge band in my own store.”

“To be fair, it’s not… well organized,” he looks worried, as if that would offend. You take it as a friendly tease because, c’mon, it’s _Steve_. He never meant anything to hurt, not when it isn’t something terribly important, such as your organizational skills.

 

> _For every voice you ever heard_
> 
> _There's a thousand without a word_
> 
> _Redbird, don't say you told me so_
> 
> _Give me one more song to go_

 

“Yeah, I was always bad at that part,” you admit, amused. “But hey, I got to meet the great Steve Rogers. The Ice Man himself. Captain Frostbite. America the Beautiful. For Spacious Pecs...”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he stops you there, laughing heartily. He does everything with heart. It’s endearing and unreasonably attractive. “Was kind of hoping I wouldn’t be recognized.”

“What, by wearing a shirt that reveals all _this_ ?” you get closer to poke him in the abs, the brick wall meeting your finger evidence enough. “Please, Rogers, you must _like_ being ogled.”

“It’s incredibly different from… what I was used to,” he shakes his head. “Still don’t think I’m really expecting it… from strangers, at least…”

 

> _I ain't waitin'_
> 
> _I ain't waitin'_
> 
> _I ain't waitin'_
> 
> _I ain't waitin'..._

 

“You’ll get used to it,” you shrug, voice soft. “Or not, and you don’t have to. People are gonna do it either way.”

“You don’t,” he reminds you, as if he knows. You smile. "Even at your store... you treated me like any other person. You didn't...  _ogle._ '

“ _Maybe_ I don’t,” you joke playfully. “I mean, you kinda got the whole package here. Pretty, strong, great personality…” he mimics your smile back, face ducking.

“So, you ogle my personality?” he asks, just barely able to look at you, cheeks red with the dry remark. You laugh out loud.

“Yeah I do, you gotta problem with that, pretty boy?” you tease, as the record hisses and crackles behind you, changing tracks. At the first few notes, you instantly recognize it, and the words _This is a song ‘bout an old Welsh witch_ pop into your head.

 

> _Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night,_
> 
> _And wouldn’t you love to love her?_
> 
> _Takes to the sky like a bird in flight_
> 
> _And who will be her lover?_

 

“If I do?” his voice drops, just a hint, because the rough rasp of it seems strange. You like it like that, and you have a feeling most women would be fainting at this point. Uh uh. Not you. _Gotta keep it together, self._

“Too bad,” your eyes flick over him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I _like_ ogling your personality.”

“I like... being with _you_ ,” Steve’s blue eyes searches through your own, waiting for a facial response, as he slowly ventures forward in his remarks. “Is… is that okay?"

“Always,” you nod, breath still swirling around your stomach, clutching hard at your heart.

 

> _All your life you've never seen a woman, taken by the wind_
> 
> _Would you stay if she promised you heaven?_
> 
> _Will you ever win?_
> 
> _Will you ever win?_

 

“Even if I don’t… I mean, _you_ don’t either…” Steve stammers shyly, scratching at the back of his head.

It’s strange, that’s for sure. You aren’t entirely certain what about _him_ makes whatever it is in _you_ happy, but it needs to be expressed in some way. Words simply aren’t enough. You like the idea of kissing but have never really tried it before. Guys don’t ever seem interested in you, preferring your friends and even family to you, and that is… well… whatever. You were a little jealous as a kid, but then just relieved when you got older and realized you just liked the attention and care. Not so much the physicality of a relationship. Especially when it meant so little, when it usually meant just a night of fun. That doesn't seem like fun to you.

 

> _Rhiannon_
> 
> _Rhiannon_
> 
> _Rhiannon_
> 
> _Rhiannon..._

 

Perhaps it’s fate, in the end. You wouldn’t doubt it. You believe in a lot of strange things others might find ridiculous, but that all might be part of the reason why you are so drawn to an old man hatched from ice not five years ago. A new man, an old soul, a new body, if old-fashioned. Beautiful… strange… you recognize an alien spirit in him.

Even if that’s just you projecting.

 

“Steve Rogers, you are _literally_ the most perfect man I know,” you straighten his collar, pulling on the little flaps left by the undone top button. “I love being with you, and it doesn’t need to be anything more than what _you_ need.”

You’ll be happy with whatever you get, honestly, and surprised by whatever he gives you. So, when that brilliant smile splits his face, shining perfect white teeth setting off the green-tinted highlights in his blue eyes, you melt. Utterly and completely melt. Like ice cream.

You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and, held in his arms, you feel the safest you ever had in your life.

 

“I’m not perfect,” he’s definitely rasping now, and it makes your spine tingle. “But I’m glad you feel that way.” His smile is blinding. But that’s nothing compared to the way he kisses you. He easily lifts you off the ground, able to meet his mouth without either of you craning your necks. _So thoughtful_. ...Also hot.

Your music trails off to the wind, because nothing really matters right now except this. It fades far off into the background, inconsequential.

Your eyes shut, and everything is perfect. He leans down once more, and still he smiles against your mouth. Just happy for this. You don’t expect more from him, and you don’t really _want_ more from him. Though you might be persuaded to do more, you’d be perfectly content just sharing kisses here and there for… well… the rest of your life.

He’s happy with just touches and kisses, unlike what he was taught, that a woman must provide other means of satisfaction. That he requires further satisfaction. He’s happy like this, and he knows it.

 

_Dreams unwind_

_Love's a state of mind_

_Dreams unwind_

_Love's a state of mind..._

 

He feels a chill breeze across his shoulders and shivers. You look up at him with mournful eyes.

You pull yourself up to whisper in his ear, voice choked.

 

_“Steve, Steve wake up.”_

_************************************************************************_

 

Steve opens his eyes slowly, a strange sense of vertigo warping his stomach. The wind whistles over the empty battlefield, ruffling his hair as he looks down to what, or rather _who_ , is lying before him. He sees your face, wan and tired, dirtied from the battle. Your hair is a messy corona around your head, your eyes a beacon drawing him in. You're looking up at him, eyes squinting in the sunlight pouring down on you.

He smiles, because you’re beautiful. Because you’re here. Because he loves you. Because… you’re _you_.

You smile back up at him from the ground, but that smile fades quickly. He stares at you, then down to his blood encrusted hand, your eyes. Your glassy, ghostly eyes as they stare up and up into the atmosphere. He had been holding down on a gaping wound, a lethal slash across your stomach, clamping it together like he could keep you together with sheer force of will and strength.

You… you had been _dying_ the whole time. During the whole… dream?

Sound and action suddenly fill the vacuum around him, his team helping him up, picking you up, voices chattering to him.

 

> Are you alright?
> 
> _No_.
> 
> What happened?
> 
> _You’re dead_.
> 
> Steve, Steve, Steve...!
> 
> _Just shut up!_

 

He pushes them all away, stumbling on his own two feet, shaky and terrified.

You’re dead. You’re _gone_.

His only...

You are, were, the only one that understands… under _stood_ him. He had finally… finally been able to… and it had all been a _dream_?

Your powers have always been strange to him, and honestly a big mystery to the whole team, but in this moment… had that actually been you?

He knows it must be. He can’t create something as _you_ as that. You had created a world where nothing could harm you and him. At least, for the moment. As you lay dying, even then, you thought of him.

 

Steve’s hands curl around his shield, fingers biting into the impenetrable metal. With a rattling cry of anguish, he hurls it away from him, staring after it with sightless eyes. You’re _gone_ , and all he has left… he has your dance. Your warm body imprinted on his arms. Your lips on his. His mouth is still buzzing, like you actually kissed. Maybe you had. Just before you opened your dream world to him, accepting him easily into your mind.

He still has your music swirling around his brain.

 

> _Oooooh..._
> 
> _Taken by, taken by the sky_
> 
> _Taken by, taken by the sky_
> 
>  


End file.
